


would you regret anything (before you go)

by effervescentlies



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Confessions, Death, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Foreshadowing, I'm Sorry, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Open to Interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28817013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effervescentlies/pseuds/effervescentlies
Summary: Dream wishes he had done something earlier about his feelings for George before his visit to Florida ended, but he gets a second chance when George miraculously reappears on his doorstep hours after he leaves for his flight back to England.The question is, is it too late?(featuring beaches, ice cream, love confessions, and goodbyes all in the same day.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63





	would you regret anything (before you go)

**Author's Note:**

> hi!
> 
> obligatory I Do Not Ship Dream and George IRL this is just an amalgamation of me being lonely and bored during quarantine n i'll take this down if they express any discomfort.
> 
> i started this weeks ago but abandoned because i kinda got bored with this one, but randomly decided to pick it back up today in a fit of inspiration. so if the style seems different towards the end, that's because i wrote everything before it quite a while ago and the entire ending just today
> 
> the tone of this fic is definitely different than what i'm used to writing, but i wanted to try something newww
> 
> feel free to discuss this fic (and any of my others) outside of ao3, just don't shove it into anyone's faces or be obnoxious about it (you know the drill)
> 
> enjoy!

“George? What are you doing here?” Dream questions, squinting. They’re standing in the front door of Dream’s house, George’s back illuminated by the afternoon Florida sun.

A small smile plays across the other man’s lips. “I wanted to see you again.”

“But I dropped you off at the airport,” Dream insists, “like, five hours ago.”

“And things don’t always work out, so here we are,” counters George, gesturing around them. “Are you going to let me in or not?”

Dream frowns, but steps aside to make way for the other. George fiddles with the handle of his suitcase for a brief moment before lugging it inside with one hand, the other hand firmly grasping the right strap of his backpack.

“Problems at the airport?” Dream guesses, swinging the front door shut. The sunlight’s blocked out now, but Dream thinks George still looks absolutely radiant. 

George glances down and hums. “Something like that. I don’t know how long I can stay.”

The two walk deeper into the house, Dream trailing George. Dream feels completely out of the loop and he’s not quite sure what to think of George showing back up on his doorstep.

What feels like mere days ago, George had finally,  _ finally  _ arrived at Orlando’s busy airport, all smiles as Dream had mercilessly tackled him into a hug. The two of them spent an entire two weeks together, visiting practically every tourist spot in Orlando. From behind George, Dream can see all the little souvenir pins on his backpack, a collage of their time together; six Harry Potter pins to appease George’s inner Harry Potter nerd, a few pins from local gift shops, and a singular, gleaming pin of Cinderella’s Castle from Disney World.

Dream still remembers the story behind that stupid little pin.

That night, when the two of them sat together in front of Cinderella’s Castle for the fireworks show, George’s head tilted up towards the sky, Dream saw each and every firework reflected in George’s mesmerizing eyes and realized that he’d like to look into those eyes for the rest of time. And in a combination of the exhaustion from the long day and the sudden but shocking realization, Dream had nearly acted on instinct and ruined  _ everything. _

There’s a light  _ thump  _ in the living room when George dumps his bags on the floor and nestles himself into the couch between the cushions. His eyes lazily glance at Dream, who’s standing awkwardly next to the couch.

Patches stirs from her nap and stretches, back arched. She mewls a sound of confusion at George and begins to pad over, but stops a few feet short and sits in front of him. Her eyes are as big as saucers. 

“Hi baby,” George coos, reaching out to scratch Patches’ ear. “Did you miss me?”

Patches purrs softly at his touch and walks closer to him, circling around George’s legs.

“I guess you did, huh,” says George bemusedly, a gentle expression on his face.

“I’m still confused,” Dream expresses, furrowing his eyebrows. “Did your flight get cancelled or something?”

George looks down, stroking Patches’ back gently, her lithe figure now settled comfortably in his lap. “Yeah. I’m not sure when I’m going back.”

“You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want,” Dream offers, curling his toes deep into the soft carpeting. George just nods in response.

“So,” George starts. “What do you want to do now?” 

Dream shifts his weight from side to side and plays with his hands. “I was just going to play Minecraft, but—”

“You have the rest of your life to do that,” chides the other, tilting his head back. “Come on. Pick something else.”

He looks just like he did that night.

Dream inhales and huffs, blowing a loose strand of hair out of his face. “You wanna go outside?”

George raises an eyebrow quizzically. “What kind of outside?”

. . .

Somehow they’re at a Dairy Queen located on the boardwalk of the nearest beach, despite the fact that the whole ride over they argued over which radio station to listen to. Dream, of course, let George win, scowling and muttering something about how George always gets what he wants. George just sits in the passenger seat and rolls his eyes, his smile as bright as a thousand suns.

Outside the store on the picnic table, George waits patiently whilst Dream purchases two Blizzards; an M&M flavoured one for George and Oreo for Dream. The pair sit silently at the table, overlooking the empty beach— it is a weekday, after all— sucking on their plastic spoons covered in the sickeningly sweet ice cream.

“This is nice,” George comments, his voice an unexpected but welcome deviation from the symphony of seagulls and crashing waves.

“It is,” agrees Dream, a little too fondly. He’s staring to the side, not daring to take a look at the man just across from him. Perhaps if he pretends George isn’t there, he won’t get that tingly feeling up his spine when the two lock eyes.

Dream clears his throat. “Have you rebooked your flight yet?” He continues.

George shoves his spoon in his cup and scrunches his nose. He unexpectedly gets up, walking to the edge of the boardwalk and stares wistfully into the water. Dream follows, sidling up next to him.

“I wish,” George starts, grasping his cup with both his hands, “I wish I could stay. Here. In Florida. With you.”

A bubbly, airy feeling rises in Dream’s gut, but he’s not sure if it’s from George or the fact that he’s just eaten a little too much ice cream. “Oh,” he squeaks out, in harmony with the seagulls above them. “I didn’t know you loved spending time with me  _ that much _ , George,” he taunts, smirking. The bubbly feeling is gone and replaced by a warm, teasing fondness.

George scowls. “Shut up.” His reply is gentle with no hint of malice.

Dream pulls his elbows up onto the hard wooden railing, his body supported by his arms. Aimlessly, he swirls his Blizzard around with his spoon. Under the ruthless Florida sun, his ice cream’s practically liquid.

“Ew,” George sounds, glancing at the ice cream abomination and then at Dream. “Are you going to  _ drink  _ that?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s disgusting. Look at it! The texture’s all gone now and it’s  _ warm _ . Warm ice cream, Dream. It’s terrible.”

“No no no no, it’s like a milkshake. It tastes the same as regular ice cream anyways; the only difference is that it’s liquid instead of solid.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised. You drink pickle juice and eat black olives as a snack.”

“Oh my God. One time George! Literally one time three years ago.”

The two descend into giggles and laughter, chiming together like bells in a perfect melody. George’s eyes are crinkled up at the edges and shaped like crescents as he looks into the crashing waves.

Dream thinks he’d like to hear George laugh for the rest of time. Maybe if that night under the fireworks, if he had listened to his heart, if he had taken George’s chin into his hands and kissed him like he so desperately wanted to instead of chickening out and giving him that stupid pin, he would have that reassurance.

“Wait,” Dream interrupts, “you’ve got ice cream on your face.”

Dream’s shakily hand reaches up to George’s face. Deep brown meets vivid green as their eyes lock, and the pad of Dream’s thumb gently swipes over George’s cheek. It’s as soft and smooth as it looks. Dream’s practically about to lick his thumb clean before he realizes what he just did, face going from its regular golden tan to a furious red.

“You didn’t have to do that,” breathes George. “Now your thumb is all sticky.” George’s eyes are still locked onto Dream’s, unblinking and wide.

Dream is ever so aware of the gap between them. Their faces are practically inches away, their bodies both leaning over the boardwalk’s railing but also getting closer and closer and—

Dream quickly tears his eyes away and into his empty cup. 

“I’m gonna go throw this away,” He announces, turning and briskly walking back towards the Dairy Queen. 

_ What the hell was that,  _ Dream thinks in despair, angrily stuffing his cup into the garbage can.  _ You nearly ruined it. You nearly ruined everything. _

A seagull squawks overhead, almost as if it’s mocking him. 

_ Calm down, calm down, calm down.  _ Dream’s thoughts are going a mile a minute. Despairingly, he stares down at his hands. He presses his index finger to his thumb; it’s sticky and feels like it’s burning red hot.

He huffs, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and marches back over to George. When he arrives, George is still there waiting for him, his cup also gone. 

“Do you wanna head back now?” Dream asks, jerking his thumb back at the direction of the car.

A shake of the head. “No,” begins George, “let’s walk.”

. . . 

On the beach, the feeling of the sand between Dream’s toes is comfortingly grounding. He’s holding his shoes in one hand, the other left dangling by his side. George is doing the same because,  _ “Come on, George, you didn’t take off your shoes when we went to the beach before, so why not try now?” _

“This is nice too, you know,” George remarks.

Dream smiles softly. “Do you not have anything else to say?” He questions. “But yeah. It is nice. It’s also a little embarrassing because I nearly cried when I said goodbye to you at the airport but you’re back here again.”

George’s laugh fills the air and Dream has to try extra hard to push down the feelings of longing and adoration that nearly make his heart stop.

For a few moments, the two are silent as they stroll along the shore. It’s relaxing; the smell of sea salt, the sugary sweet taste of chocolate still fresh on their tongues, the presence of them next to each other.

“Do you have any regrets?” George asks out of nowhere.

Tilting his head in confusion, Dream responds with his own question. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean like in life. If you died, would you—” George swallows, “would you regret anything before you go?”

Dream tenses and digs his toes deeper into the sand with each step, but takes a moment to think and reflect before answering. “Well, I guess so. I mean, I have my career and my family and my friends,”  _ and you,  _ Dream wishes he could say, “and I’m so, so grateful and happy with that. But I’m only twenty-one. There’s so much time left for me to live and so much I haven’t done yet. And,” he takes a deep breath, “there are definitely things I wish I would’ve done in the past if I had the guts to do them.”

George hums in response to his rant, eyes trained downwards at his own feet. “What kind of things? That you wish you would’ve done in the past, I mean.”

_ More than you know,  _ thinks Dream.  _ More than you’ll ever, ever know. _

“Just stupid little things,” he lies, staring at the top of George’s head. The sun is getting lower in the sky now, and George’s hair looks like it’s crowned by a halo of light. Dream has to hold himself back from touching it. “Why are you asking, like, the deepest questions ever?”

The other man smiles and looks back up at Dream. “I don’t know. Just thinking. But I think I agree with you.”

Dream scoffs, but his eyes are full of mirth and his smile is wide. “Of course you agree with me, George. You love me. Even if you don’t say it sometimes.”

George opens his mouth, but promptly shuts it and instead rolls his eyes fondly.

They continue walking, Dream’s breath catching every time their hands brush together. All he wants, all he’s  _ ever _ wanted for the past two weeks is for him to daintily take George’s porcelain, petal-soft hand and hold it in his.

The beach is empty and serene. Gone are the teenagers that play beach volleyball together, the families that take their small children into the ocean for the first time, the couples that suntan together on plush towels under umbrellas graciously providing a hint of shade. 

It’s just them. The two of them, together, as always.

Dream notices George’s expression again. He’s got a far-off look in his eyes and the slightest of a frown on his face, clearly deep in thought. 

“What’s wrong?” Dream asks, slowing the two to a stop.

“I’ve just been thinking a lot today,” confesses George.

“I know you have,” Dream muses, recalling their conversation just minutes earlier. “About what?”

“I don’t know. Lots of things. This trip,” rants George, the words spilling out of his mouth, “Us.”

Dream nearly chokes on his own spit. George doesn’t notice it. “Us?” Dream echoes, dumbstruck.

“Things have been bothering me,” George admits. He’s got one hand in his pocket, fiddling with something while the other hangs low by his side.

Dream’s face falls and he feels sick to his stomach. “Did something happen? Did I do something wrong?” His head swirls with concern and fear. He’s taken things too far this time, hasn’t he? Gotten too touchy with George, been too obvious with his little side glances.

“What you said earlier,” begins George, “about the things you regret not doing. Did you mean it? When you said they were just stupid little things?” George is looking directly into Dream’s eyes with an unfamiliar, blazing intensity.

Dream has half the mind to lie, tell George yes, the things he regrets doing are insignificant and unimportant. Tell George that he regrets things like never trying sushi or not buying that nice blanket he’d seen at the store. But it’s getting late, both in the day and in George’s time left in Florida. He’s due to leave any day now, and Dream isn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

George will never be insignificant to Dream.

“No, I didn’t,” Dream professes, squinting slightly. The sun’s really starting to set now. “They were important things. Really, really important things.”

“Like what?” asks George, his face illuminated in the sun.

Golden hour looks good on George. Impossibly deep brown turns to clear, rich chocolate in his eyes. Pale skin turns sun-kissed and rosy pink. He’s still glowing, as luminous as ever. 

Dream’s mouth moves before his brain can even start to think, too enamored to form any coherent thoughts. “You,” he rasps out.

“Me?”

“Who else? It’s always been you,” Dream confirms. “That night. At Disney.”

George nods solemnly. “Under the fireworks.”

“I wanted to kiss you. So, so badly. I didn’t know— I didn’t realize how much I liked you until this trip. I was afraid I would fuck everything up, so I gave you that pin instead. And I regret it— I regret it so bad,” Dream splutters, tripping over his words.

“You were afraid you would fuck everything up,” George says slowly. A small smile breaks across his face. “You’re such an idiot, Dream.” George steps impossibly closer.

“What?”

“I regretted that too,” George confesses.

The air is knocked out of Dream’s lungs.

“George,” Dream asks, barely able to hear himself over the sound of his thundering heart. “Can I kiss you?” 

“Yeah,” says George breathlessly, and presses his lips to Dream’s.

Dream cups George’s jaw, thumb grazing over his cheek in the same sticky spot he did earlier, and kisses him ardently. George kisses him back, gentle, enthusiastic, fervent, in waves crashing full of emotion. Everything around them stills; the seagulls quiet, the ocean calms, the beach breeze dissipates into thin air.

It’s better than Dream ever could have hoped for. 

. . .

The sky is dark and speckled with stars. Dream sits on the sand, his hands aimlessly playing with George’s hair. George’s head rests comfortably in Dream’s lap and is turned to watch the waves. Moonlight glimmers off of the water, silvery-white against a deep blue-black.

“I meant what I said earlier,” says George, “when I said I wanted to stay here forever.”

“You could,” Dream answers. “You can stay here with me. There’ll always be a spot for you.”

There’ll always be a spot for George in Florida, at Dream’s house, is what any outsider would think. But what Dream means, what goes unsaid, is that there’ll always be a spot for George in Dream’s time, his life, his heart.

George stills and turns his head up to look at Dream. Shakes his head, and says, “I know. But I can’t, and you know that.” He smiles sadly.

Dream shifts and looks down, disappointment written all over his face. “Why not?”

“I have things holding me back, Dream,” answers George, sitting up. “Far away from here.”

Selfishly, Dream wants to wish all those things away. He wants to stay on this beach with George forever, eating ice cream and watching the sun set in a painting of yellows and oranges and blazing reds. But instead, he croaks out, “I understand.”

George smiles slightly and looks Dream in the eyes. “I know you will.”

“What do you mean?” asks Dream, and then his breath catches in his throat when George takes one of his hands and clasps it between his own.

“I want you to have this,” says George, and presses something small and cool into Dream’s hand. “To remember. Don’t look at it until I go.”

Dream’s head is swimming with confusion. The warm summer air feels unusually cold, yet thick and suffocating when he breathes in. “Go? Go where?” 

And then George is glimmering, shining, sparkling beautifully in the moonlight as he lets go of Dream’s hand and stand up. Dream stands with him, captivated by the sight. George is a diamond glistening bright, somehow more luminous than his wide smile, and Dream can’t help but want to see  _ more. _

Behind George is the moon, full and pregnant as it illuminates George’s back with pale moonlight. Dream opens his mouth to ask  _ what’s going on _ when George’s shimmering body begins to turn translucent. Dream looks down to see the moonlight now travelling through George, hitting his own torso, and looks back up.

A tear slides down George’s cheek. Dream thinks it’s made out of stardust. 

“I’m sorry,” whispers George, wistfully. “I wish I could’ve told you. I wish we had more time.”

Dream doesn’t realize he’s crying as well until he has to sniffle and blink away the waterfalls spewing out of his eyes. “I don’t understand,” he says, fists tightly balled at his sides. “What’s happening to you?”

George shakes his head, tears falling faster and larger, pooling on his crystalline cheeks. “I have to go, Dream. They’re taking me away.” 

Stepping closer, Dream reaches out a hand to comfort George, wipe his tears away, do  _ something  _ to help, but his arm merely phases through. George is fading away, translucent and glimmering.

And there’s nothing Dream can do about it.

“Who?” says Dream, desperate, begging for an explanation. “Please, just talk to me. Tell me.”

“You already know, Dream. You’re smart. You’ll figure it out,” George replies, eyes glassy.

And Dream does know, despite how much he wants to believe it can’t be true. How much he wants to believe that this is just a nightmare, and that he’ll wake up any minute now on the beach, George by his side. 

The two of them, together.

“Do you have any regrets?” Dream manages to ask, voice cracking and weak under emotion. His eyes are blurry, his nose runny, his mouth all screwed up with anguish.

This time, George is the one to step closer. He reaches out a sparkling hand and swipes the tears on Dream’s face away, his touch chilly and feather-light. He smiles. “No.”

Dream forces his eyes shut. He can’t bear to watch George disappear in front of him, not now, not when they’ve spent so little time together, not like this. “I love you,” he murmurs, voice dripping wet.

A cool press to Dream’s cheek. A light, ghostly touch to his lips, gentle and soft.

When Dream opens his eyes, there’s no one there. No evidence George was ever with him — no footprints on the sand, no shitty sneakers that George had left next to the two of them as they watched the full moon over crashing waves.

Dream sobs, bringing his hands up to his face. There’s something digging into his palm, but he barely feels the slight pain.

_ I want you to have this. To remember. Don’t look at it until I go. _

He opens his hand, and there, sitting in his palm, is that  _ damned  _ pin, gleaming gold. He gently turns it over. On its backside, a spark forms, burning into the metal and turning the cool metal warm. Smoothly, the spark engraves a small heart into the back of the pin, and disappears as soon as the heart is complete.

Dream falls onto the sand. Clutches the pin close to his heart. Cries his eyes dry and his voice hoarse.

In the night, the wind carries a message, a whisper from one lost lover to another. It rustles through the leaves of palm trees and through the glittering particles dissipated in the air.  _ I love you _ , it whispers, softly and lovingly into Dream’s ear.

Dream hears it.

**Author's Note:**

> how we feelin
> 
> lots of foreshadowing in this if u go back and look
> 
> please comment n kudos if you enjoyed because AO3 statistics show only a small percent of readers leave a kudos or a comment yada yada yada u know by now


End file.
